His Life of Contradictions
by unrivaled-mishap
Summary: Saint Jimmy was one hell of a man and the Jesus of Suburbia is a lonely one. Somehow the two found each other. Between the begining and the end of their friendship, life happened. And life is full of ups, downs, love, rage, and every begining must have an end.
1. Chapter 1

**"Here lies James Vincent Grey. Rest In Peace."**

The gravestone read. The words deliberately chiseled into the smooth surface didn't do justice to the man lying six feet below.

The grass had just started growing over the freshly covered grave and the ground in the surrounding area was covered in bottles and cigarette butts, all left behind by visitors coming to pay their last respects to the man they all loved to hate.

The parties would never be as wild, the music would never be as loud, the booze never quite as potent, and the drugs never as hard without the presence of their patron saint to overlook the festivities.

"You've done it this time, Jimmy." A man with dark hair said, his voice thick with melancholy. "You didn't tell anyone what to write on your grave. They didn't even put your proper title."

The man dropped to his knees, uncapping the black sharpie he had brought with him. He scrawled _Saint_ just above the name of the man who could easily be considered his closest friend, and even a bit more in some cases, and he drew a heart with an inverted cross jutting through the center just beside the name.

Sure, it may seem a bit pompous to hold a title like that, and especially to add that to a simple grave marker, but that's exactly what it was. It was a ridiculous title, but it just added to the character known to the world as Saint Jimmy.

He was larger than life. From the tips of the spikes atop his head, to the thick lines of black that rimmed eyes, all the way down to the ratty pants he wore, which were more hole than jean, he was different. Saint Jimmy was held in a class of his own.

Everything he did was extreme. Legend says he was born with a smoking pistol in one hand, a ready syringe in his other, and an unlit cigarette between his lips. And even more people recall his birth by adding a few lines about how he burst out in swears rather than cries promptly after exiting the asylum of his mother's womb. Although it sounds outlandish, upon meeting him, it was easy to believe. When you met him, it felt as though he was born covered in tattoos and the scars adorning him were birthmarks rather than battle scars. You could imagine him as a small child with jet black hair and an even darker heart. He seemed to have been born as a demon destined to grace the world with his damned ways.

He'd never been quite what you'd imagine a saint to be. Saints were associated with holy things, with love and grace. He was made of the unholiest bits, void of nearly all good, yet he still was a saint. The patron saint of anger, of violence, of drugs and drinks, of disaster, and above all, the patron saint of denial. A leader to the misunderstood and lost.

"Fuck." The man kneeling down at the grave mumbled, burying his face in his hands. "Why'd you have to go and do this? You just had to go and shoot yourself." He took a deep breath. "All the boys told me that your angel face wasn't quite so angelic in that casket. They told me you shot yourself straight through the head and they couldn't put all the pieces back together." He let out a dry laugh, which lacked even the slightest hint of emotion. "What are you? Fucking Humpty Dumpty?"

"God dammit, Jimmy. Why'd you do this? We were supposed to be Johnny and Jimmy, the dynamic duo! We were supposed to be together forever. You're the saint! You were supposed to teach me your ways and show me how to live in this world! You promised!" He slammed a fist against the ground as his voice cracked. "But you lied! I should have known you would do this. I should have known everything was too good to be true. Whatsername told me I couldn't trust you! She knew you'd let me down like this!"

He leaned forward until his forehead rested against the cold, polished surface of the gravestone he had just drawn on. "You fucking asshole. I hate you!" And despite all of his rational mind screaming at him to get up and move on, his emotions won over. He just stayed like that for a long while, knees hugged to his chest, head resting against the stone, as a groan of utter agony grew in the back of his throat, until it finally amounted into a scream of pain. With that sound, any person listening would have come to the conclusion that the man's world was coming to an end, and in a twisted way, it actually was.

This marked the end of an era.

It was the moment the Jesus of Suburbia realized that he was living a lie. The drug dealer he sought refuge in was only a lie. His own title, the Jesus of Suburbia, was a lie. He was nothing special. He was merely Johnny of Jingletown, stepson of Brad, not a son of God in the slightest. And Saint Jimmy was just ordinary Jimmy. He wasn't a real Saint, sent down by God to guide Johnny in his adventures, he was another charismatic drug dealer.

But none of that mattered. Johnny believed in his friend while he was living, and that was all that truely mattered.

Eventually, Johnny's cries subsided. For once his red eyes could be blamed on tears rather than alcohol or drugs, and his hoarse voice could be blamed on cries of pain rather than whoops of happiness.

"Oh God, I really am a nothing," Johnny sighed, finally shifting to sit upright with his legs crossed indian-style. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and held it between his lips as he struck a match and brought it up to light the cigarette. "Brad was right. I am nothing and I'll never be more than that." His words were muffled by the cancer stick between his teeth. Slowly, he took a drag and pulled the cigarette from his mouth. He tilted his head to watch the wisps smoke dissipate into the blue sky as he exhaled. "Man, I remember my first night in this shitty town. You found me, you took me in." He paused to take another drag. "You taught me how to live."

Johnny had been stumbling around the dirty town, completely alone. Sure, he originally arrived with a massive group of friends, but Tunny ran off to fight in the war, and everyone else found better things to do with their lives. They abandoned the Jesus of Suburbia. They shut him out and left him to fend for himself, a terrible treachery, a sin that could never be forgiven.

Then _he _came along.

Johnny was sitting on the sidewalk, knees drawn up to his chest, back resting against the side of a building, listening to the cars zooming by and inhaling the dirty city air, when a pair of clunky boots came marching up and stopped beside him. His eyes panned upward, past the torn jeans and chains draped about the man's slim hips, past the unbuttoned, black shirt that showed off slightly toned muscles and and delicate sparrow tattoos across the man's waist. His eyes met shocking green ones surrounded by smeared black lines. The standing man offered his hand and a wry smirk.

"My name's Jimmy, Saint Jimmy," He stated boldly as he pulled Johnny up off of the dirty ground. "And don't wear it out."

Johnny just stood there for the longest time, breath caught in the back of his throat. He was captivated. The man- Saint Jimmy- was, by far, the most interesting person he'd met in his 22 years of living. No one before had ever had such an air of confidence or authority. No one before had ever presented themselves in such a self-assured manner. No one before had ever managed to weasel their way into the deepest crevices of Johnny's mind so fast. Saint Jimmy had to be someone specially made for him, he had to have been born for the sole purpose of leading Johnny through the world.

Jimmy raised a thick eyebrow, "Hey, boy, do you have a name?" Johnny nodded in response. "So what is it?"

Mentally, Johnny kicked himself. "Uh, Johnny. My name's Johnny."

"Well, Johnny, are you just going to keep standing there basking in my glory, or are you going to come with me?" He turned on a heel and made his way down the sidewalk, taking long strides so he could arrive at his intended destination with plenty of time to spare. The chains on his belt and the buckles of his boots jingled with every step, the polar opposite of the merry jingle bells that spread joy during the Christmas season.

Johnny stood where he was for a few moments. He nervously licked his lips, running all of the possible scenarios through his mind before finally deciding that he'd regret standing around more than he'd regret any negative outcome. He started jogging to catch up to Jimmy, his Converse made a dull thud with each step.

"I'm coming." He called out.

"You know, it was really weird how our relationship worked out. One minute I was on the ground, then I was at your place, next thing I knew, we were together almost all the time and you were my best friend." The man mumbled, his tears finally stopped falling. He was calling upon good feelings, happy thoughts to help him recollect himself.

He reached out his hand to drag his fingers across the carved stone. "Hey, Jimmy, remember that first party you took me to?" He smiled to himself, shaking his head slightly. "You showed up at my apartment and told me that I needed to get dressed. So I did just that, then you claimed I didn't look good enough, so you smeared a bunch of black shit around my eyes."

He closed his eyes, remembering the bright lights, loud music, wild dancing, and even wilder people that surrounded him at that party. He remembered the drugs, too. The puffs of smoke and people with half-lidded eyes. People whose heads and arms moved in jerks with spoons, lighters, and syringes ready to shoot more drugs into their hungry veins. Sleazy women, and men alike, wore hardly any clothes, what they did wear clung their skin, showing off every little curve and accent of their bodies. Everything about the place made Johnny think, _damn, this is how you live._

"Get dressed Johnny! We're going to a party!" Jimmy declared, stomping into his friend's apartment. He collapsed on the couch, propping his boots up on the adjacent coffee table.

Johnny didn't really know what kind of a party Jimmy was talking about, but he did know it couldn't possibly be a fancy one. Eventually he settled on wearing a black button down, not too nice, not too casual, perfect for any occasion.

"Oh, you are not going out looking like that." Jimmy said, rising to his feet.

"What's wrong with how I look? What are you doing?" He tried swatting Jimmy's hands away from his face, to no avail, so he just stood there, dealing with the eyeliner being applied to his eyes.

"It's just a little eyeliner, it wont kill you." The saint laughed, tucking the makeup back into his pocket. He looked his friend up and down before wrinkling his nose and reaching up to unbutton Johnny's shirt.

"Jimmy, if you're going to undress me at least buy me a drink first." Johnny rolled his eyes, deciding to go along with whatever genius plan the saint happened to come up with.

Finally, the shirt was unbuttoned, "Just leave the black shirt at home. Keep the undershirt on, though."

Johnny rose a brow. Really? He was just wearing an old, gray muscle shirt patterned with quite a few suspicious stains. But whatever Jimmy wanted went, so he just went along with it.

Half an hour later, the pair was at a rather large building. A normal person would call it sketchy, but Jimmy seemed right at home, as if there was nothing wrong with the blackened windows or the heavy bass practically shaking the ground.

The minute they walked inside, Johnny was overwhelmed by little things that triggered each of his senses. Heavy smoke gave the whole room a dreamlike and hazy look. The smell of sweat and tobacco smoke took a bit for him to adjust too. He was almost instantly overtaken by the heat of the place, the moving bodies made it feel like the middle of June rather than October.

"Hey, I have some friends I need to meet up with," Jimmy yelled over the music. "But find me if you're up for a good time." He turned and was absorbed into the crowd of dancing people .

"Hey cutie, wanna dance?" Johnny heard a sing-song voice as a hand was placed lightly on his shoulder. He turned to see a girl with cinnamon skin and eyeliner applied so well that it would put Saint Jimmy's makeup skills to shame.

Johnny was stunned. The girl before him was gorgeous, wonderful, different. She held herself with the utmost confidence. Usually Johnny saw people in skimpy clothing and he assumed they were just begging to get laid and lacked all self respect. But it was the opposite with this stranger, he knew she had all the self respect in the world, her shorts and skin-tight crop top were worn because she new that she had _it, _whatever _it_ was, and she had a right to flaunt _it_ all she wanted.

"Uh, I-I don't dance." Johnny stuttered, his pale cheeks flaring up red. "W-well that's not really the right word. I just can't dance."

The girl let out a laugh, not some tinkling pixi laugh or something that sounded like the ringing of a bell, but a real laugh. A sound that rang through Johnny's ears and made him believe that there really was good in the world. "Honey, anyone can dance. You just have to put yourself out there and risk looking like a fool." She gave him a lopsided smile before grabbing his hands and guiding them to her waist. "So you put your hands here, and I put mine here," She placed her hands on his shoulders. "And we move like this." She started swaying side to side, shifting her weight from one sneaker clad foot to the other, and Johnny awkwardly followed suit.

"I'm Johnny." He dared to ask a question, even though he didn't quite trust his mouth not to make a fool of himself. "What do folks call ya', hon?"

She flashed a smile, "People 'round here call me Whatsername." There was a beat of silence. "You came here with Saint Jimmy, didn't you?" Johnny nodded, "I'd be careful if I were you. He's not the most reliable person."

He looked at Whatsername like she grew a second head. "You're lying. Jimmy's the best! How do you know anything about him?"

Whatsername stopped moving. "Calm the fuck down, Johnny. I'm just trying to give you honest advice. Jimmy used to be my boyfriend. He was nothing but broken promises. He said he'd give me the world, but he got bored and left me."

"I don't see why anyone would leave you." Johnny replied. "I know I never would."

"Are you flirting with me?" Whatsername asked, and she spoke again, not even giving Johnny a chance to stutter out an excuse or reply. "Because, babe, it's working." She leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. "We should really spend some time together. "


	2. Of Rage and Love

Johnny stretched his long legs out in front of him and leaned back against the gravestone in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. He let out a quiet sigh as he smashed the butt of his cigarette into the dusty ground. He ran his tongue over his chapped lips, closing his eyes. The sunlight cast shadows across his cheeks. The shadows made the man's eyelashes look like delicate lace rather than fine hairs clumped together because he had been crying only a few minutes before.

"Jimmy, I have to say that you have brought upon most of the pain and suffering I've ever had to face over my entire lifetime." The man absent-mindedly tugged at the dog tags around his neck as he spoke. "But I never really minded all that much, because you were..." Johnny trailed off, searching for a word that could accurately describe Saint Jimmy. Strange, peevish, loud, sarcastic, unique, flamboyant, and the list could just go on, "you were Jimmy." He said finally, giving a curt nod, even though he knew that no one was around to see it.

"I never thought I'd be thanking someone for ruining my life." There was a beat of silence. "But then again, I never imagined that I'd experience half the things I have in the past couple of years." He had ran away from Jingletown, fallen in and out if love a few times, lost friends, befriended a drug dealer, and came to love a twisted and deceptive man, who just happened to be that said drug dealer.

A flock of doves landed in the lot across the street, the soft down of their feathers rustled as they cried, and seemingly laughed together, the sound their throaty chortle carried throughout the nearby area. That sound and clouds that hung across the sky, not quite letting the sun shine through seemed to set the mood for reminiscing and mourning. And there was just _something_ about a Tuesday at three in the afternoon that made it all fall perfectly into place, like a skillfully played game of Tetris.

"Know what, Jimmy? I'm not quite sure if I can ever forgive you for being the reason Whatsername and I didn't work out." Johnny mused wistfully, plucking a blade of grass from the dirt and shredding it between his fingers. "Some times I think that me and her could have really been great, a power couple or some shit."

The man tried to speak, but his breath hitched and his words got lost in the process. He wanted to say that it was okay, that even though he didn't want to forgive Jimmy for destroying his relationship, he still forgave him in the end. There was no better reason than death to make amends. And even though he did miss Whatsername, the days he spent alone with Jimmy were some of the best of his life. And Johnny was certain that he was pure poison for the woman he loved.

It seemed as if the whole world was asleep that morning. The hum of the heater was like a lullaby, the pale light was more of a comfort that eased the mind and would pull you back into the land of dreams, rather than a blinding wake up call. And the fact that the previous night was a blur of tossed sheets, hot kisses, and anything _but _sleep only made Whatsername even more reluctant to crawl out of bed.

But when her eyes fluttered open only to find the space beside her empty, she decided that it would be a good time to search for Johnny. That's how life had been going since her path had crossed with his, late nights, early mornings, shared cups of coffee, sweet jokes, and attempts at making life better for the both of them.

Right from the start Whatsername had made it perfectly clear that she didn't approve of the things Johnny was doing because Saint Jimmy had convinced him to. And for the sake of their relationship, Johnny vowed to go clean, to cut syringes and highs from his life, and to focus on better things, to focus on love- their love.

In the past few months, Whatsername had grown used to finding Johnny sitting out on the balcony, shivering because he was too lazy to put on a coat, so she'd bring him a blanket and a mug of hot coffee, black, he didn't like sugar or milk all that much. She'd sit with him and smoke a cigarette or two as they silently gazed out at the dirty city whose nightlife was just heading to bed, and whose active citizens were just awakening to go on with their mundane lives.

To most, this routine would seem trivial, as if the two of them had lost their edge, but to the couple, it was comforting. It was a constant.

Growing up, Johnny was caught in a whirlwind of change. His dad left when he was young, and the only fatherly figures he had were a string of suitors who hardly stuck around long enough to teach him how to shave or even pretend to be a parent. From a young age, Johnny felt like he just got in the way and was a bother to everyone, especially his mother. All of his life he had just been searching for one thing that could stay there forever, one person he wouldn't be a burden to. He thought Jimmy was that person, but Whatsername made him think again. Both people wer wonderful. But Whatsername was a burst of light, where Jimmy was a black hole. She was a dawning day, full of promise, and he was a night about to start. She was kindness and love, while he was bitterness and rage.

Whatshername's life hadn't been much easier than Johnny's. She was the product of a drunken mistake between a promising honor student and the local badboy. Her parent's tried to make it work, but before she was born, her dad ditched town and her mother decided it would be best for her to be raised by her grandparents. The second her eighteenth birthday came around, Whatsername's bags were packed and she was bolting to the nearest big city. She couldn't take another quiet night watching _Bonanza_ with her Grandpa.

Yes, it broke her grandparents' hearts to see her leave like that, but they understood. The girl had dreams too big for that little town to nurture. Like Johnny, Whatsername had come across Saint Jimmy and thought he was the answer to all of her problems. She was wrong. He was just a time bomb, and the seconds were just ticking down, the time for him to do something dangerous and erratic was getting closer and closer. Luckily, she realized and was able to get out before anything bad happened.

Now, despite the fact that all around her she only saw failed relationships, she still longed for love. She needed an anchor to keep her sane. Johnny found himself dreaming of the same thing. He just wanted someone he could love, and who would love him, unconditionally. At first, the pair was perfect, they suited each other wonderfully. Johnny made the decision to go clean, to rid himself all drugs (aside from nicotine, of course).

When Whatsername glanced outside to the balcony, what she was greeted with was Johnny shaking, not the usual shivers of a man who was too lazy to put on a coat before going outside, but the violent shakes of a junkie in need of a high. And the Saint was leaning against the railing, readily providing the poison to calm the shaking nerves. And that so called "saint" had a wry smirk plastered across his lips, he was perfectly aware of the havoc that was about to commence.

The girl's eyes opened wide with the sudden realization of the exchange going on between the two men just outside her home. Angrily she marched out to put a stop to it. "What the fuck, Johnny? Seriously, what is your problem?" She yelled. "And you stay out of this, James." She growled as she saw Jimmy open his mouth to speak. Eventually, he was bound to make some smart-ass remark, but now was not the time for it.

"Calm down, babe." Johnny mumbled, reaching out to touch his lover's hand, but she pulled away from his touch. It took everything he had not to let his disappointment show. "Look, darling, _honey, baby. _I love you. I'm sorry. And yes, I lied. But I had to. Saint Jimmy just showed up here one day when you were out, and I guess he sorta got me hooked again, and he showed me what living really is."

You could almost hear Whatsername's scarred heart shatter into a million and one pieces, and you could tell that her heart would never be quite whole again. "You promised," Her wavering voice was practically a whimper. "You said you'd do anything for me. You promised to get better. What happened to that? Do you not care anymore?"

It was in the brief moment of silence that followed the Saint took the initiative to speak up. "So, hon, I guess we can conclude that you are no longer the most important thing in this _lovely _man's life. So just suck it up and move on, sweet cheeks. Have fun in your life alone."

"Shut. Up. Jimmy." She spat out through clenched teeth. It wasn't true, there was not a way that it possibly could be. Johnny had said that he loved her with all of his heart, that he'd sooner die than break her trust by turning back to drugs and the life that Saint Jimmy oh-so-graciously offered him. "Johnny," She said hesitantly, almost afraid that the words Jimmy spoke were the truth. "Please tell me that Jimmy isn't saying something true. Please tell me that you're going to chose me over him. Just let me know that you care about me more, that you'll quit all that," She gestured toward the leather-clad drug dealer. "And stay here with me, because you love me most."

There was another long beat of silence, only this time, the Saint had the mind enough to keep his mouth shut. And then, finally, Johnny spoke up. "I can't. I really like you, and you're pretty cool. BUt I just can't choose you over this wild and exciting life I've been offered. That's like being able to choose between raisins and chocolate, and picking raisins. You're great and all, but some things are just way more important than having a cool chick waiting at home for you. And living life on the edge is one of those things. I'm not sure that I can give everything up right after I reclaimed my life, y'know?"

"Oh, God, Jimmy, she was so pissed. Do you remember that look on her face. The way she told me to die. All the things she threw out of the apartment. The way she stopped answering my calls. How she told every other person within a thousand mile radius that I was bad news and was to be avoided at all costs." With each thing the man listed off, his voice grew softer and softer. "Sometimes I still run into girls out on the street and they get mad at me for no reason.

"But, hey, at least I had you." He said softly after a brief pause. Johnny shifted a bit as he laced his fingers together, "And I don't think that I could really ask for anything better than that." The man fell dead silent. He no longer had Jimmy, he no longer had Whatsername, Tunny certainly forgot about him while overseas, who knew if he still graced Will's scattered thoughts, and everyone who mattered back in Jingletown ran off after seeing the wild life the bright lights of the city offered.

He now had nothing.

Thousands of questions raced through Johnny's mind, but he couldn't bring himself to ask a single one of them. He didn't think that he could stand the dead silence that would follow. As he glanced at the cemetery around him, he noticed that he wasn't the only mourner present. There were widows donned in black dresses leaving flowers at their deceased husband's graves, friends with eyes squeezed tight, fighting back tears as they came to the realization that their friends really were gone. And with that, Johnny realized that he was even less special than he originally believed. He realized that he wasn't the only sad person on the face of this earth, or even in this shitty town. Everyone had something to be upset about, and he wasn't any different from the rest of them. They had all lost someone important, and all of them were feeling the same pain that loss brings.

"So this is where the famous Saint Jimmy spends his time off the streets." Johnny commented as he gazed around the small house. He had expected a trashy apartment with broken locks and prostitutes and junkies hanging around outside, but instead with a rather modest house. Inside there were old paperbacks strewn about the floor, candles with hardly any wick left to burn. The paint on the walls was fading and chipped, and there were empty cans and chip bags scattered around the carpeted floor. Shelves all around were piled high with books; Word War Z, Great Expectations, Scorpio Races, Edgar Allan Poe: His Life and Legacies, Jimmy had it all. Quite impressive and even more surprising.

"Holy fuck, Jimmy, what's with all the books?" Johnny breathed, not quite believing the page filled scene before them.

Jimmy strolled over to pick a few novels off of the coffee table. "I like reading." He muttered plainly as he put the books onto shelves without even pausing to think of where they belonged, as he knew their spot by instinct alone. "When I was little my father skipped out on mom and me with some whore from out of state. So mom had to pick up a bunch of odd jobs to make ends meet. The poor woman felt bad about leaving her angel-faced son home alone all the time, so she would bring home second-hand books too keep me company." The black haired man offered a shrug. "Words just kinda grew on me, I guess."

Frankly, Johnny was shocked. He could hardly imagine this rough and tough man ever being a child, let alone one who sat at home, wonder-filled eyes opened wide, staring at a book, as he waited for his dear mommy to return from her second job. "How did you end up like this, then?" Johnny gestured to Jimmy. He couldn't imagine how such a loving and caring mother could possibly foster such devious spawn.

There was a long pause, the transition was a dead giveaway that this was uncharted grounds, that not many people delved into the Saint's past, and even fewer got answers.

"Mom got real sick toward the end of high school." Jimmy said, although his voice didn't soften or waver, Johnny could tell his heart was breaking, as were the walls that made Jimmy so cold, so distant, so inhuman. "She had to be put in the hospital, so she couldn't make money and we definitely couldn't afford the hospital stay. I got a job at some sketchy-ass 7/11 and a lot of people kept asking where they could get weed. Everything just escalated from there." Jimmy took a breath. "Mom knew she wouldn't like where I was getting so much money, so she never asked. And I never bothered to tell her.

Johnny didn't trust himself to speak. He knew that he'd try to say something kind and it would just come out vulgar and twisted. "So, uh, who's your favorite author?" He asked after a long bout of silence, trying to change the subject.

"Poe." Jimmy stated firmly without even pausing to think. "He was mom's favorite, so most of my fondest memories involve his stories and poems." He trailed off. The look in his eye made the godlike Saint seem human. Even though it took away from his cool, mysterious aura, it only made him more fantastic. The emotions he showed only made an outlandish character into a relatable one.

"Now, Johnny-boy, we have plans this evening, so get ready. As long as you live with me, the two of us are going to have lots of fun." And with that, Saint Jimmy's walls were back in place.


End file.
